


The Final Match

by Alex Lee (ImSupernatural1)



Series: If They Were Real [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Bromance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26943697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImSupernatural1/pseuds/Alex%20Lee
Summary: Struggling to find his true self in his world of fame, Clay is stuck with a British boy who has no idea who he really is. Now having to go on with a normal life while always having to keep his identity a secret, will Clay make it to the final match in one piece? Or will his secret life be leaked by his unwanted roommate?
Relationships: dreamnotfound - Relationship
Series: If They Were Real [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031763
Comments: 19
Kudos: 102





	1. The Roommate

  
As a given, most people feel as though they're missing a part of themselves. Whether it's a soulmate, the perfect job, a calling to fix something in this world. Whatever it may be, many people find it near impossible to ignore. Now, most never find out just what it is they felt they were missing. Most, but not all. Meet Clay. A man known by the name Dream who owned a considerable amount of natural talent in combat and parkour. Standing at around six foot tall, he was almost built for physical combat. Not many could possibly hope to live up to the standards of someone so, gifted.  
  
  


Many believe that he had found his calling in life. A twenty-two year old man who was practically unstoppable. But if you asked him, he was just as lost as the rest of them.

Sitting in his college dorm room with loud music playing in the background, Dream was sat with one leg pressed against his chest as he read out of his textbook. He was slowly spinning back and forth in his chair as his mind started to wander. A tournament was coming up. One he wasn't looking foreword to.

  
  


"Hi there!" A British voice broke Clay from his little world when a voice spoke to him. Turning around, he could see an averagely sized guy with dark hair. White glasses occupied his face and he was carrying a suitcase. There was a wide smile on his face, but Clay didn't return it.

  
  


"Who the hell are you?" Clay quickly pulled a cloth surgical mask across his face before the new guy had a moment to see who he was. The pandemic was nice about one thing at least. In the stranger's free hand, a key was held outstretched. She he hadn't just walked in an unlocked door.

"I'm George. The Office said this was my new room." Taking a step into the room, George looked around. It was obvious Clay was the only one who had ever been in this room. Dirty clothes were piled in several corners of the room. A pizza box sat on the sink on the far wall. "What's your name?" George walked over to the more or less cleaned off second bed and set his case on it.

  
  


"I'm not supposed to have roommates. There must be a mistake, so don't get too comfortable, dude." Huffing in annoyance, Clay got up and left the dorm. As he left the room, he pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. It was a rather considerable walk to the Office, and it took Clay several minutes to get someone to talk to about this.

  
  


Within a short amount of time, someone he trusted was able to get him the information needed. Only a handful of people in the world knew who Clay was, and one of them worked at this college. A man by the name of Nick. "I told you I can't help you with this, man. You've gotta roommate now. At least he's a cute one-"

  
  


"Shut up! Look, I don't want to have to wear this stupid mask twenty-four-seven! You can't do _anything_?" Practically begging, Clay leaned on the counter that Nick sat behind.

  
  


"I can't. I'm sorry, dude." Groaning in annoyance, Clay pushes off the counter and pouted on his way back to his dorm room.

  
  


Once back at his dorm room, Clay storms in and lays face first in the bed.

  
  


"So...can I stay?" George was sitting on the second bed, nothing unpacked yet. Phone in hand, he looked super uncomfortable just sitting there.

  
  


"Not like I can stop you from being here. Apparently." Clay rolled over and sighed deeply. He sits up and, practically glaring at George. "Are you gonna unpack or not?"

  
  


Quickly moving from his uncomfortable perch on his bed, George starts unloading his things from bag. "So, you never told me your name. "

  
  


"Clay." He had no intention of being friends with this boy, nor was he going to be friendly. He didn't want anyone to know he was on campus, because if people did, his time here would be painful.

  
  


George shrugged him off for the time being, going about making his side of the room more homey. He hung posters on the wall that made Clay sigh deeply. They were of him, the Dream version of him that is, and Technoblade. The man he was meant to fight in the up coming tournament. It was one of those ugly stylized paintings of a fight from a few years back between the two of them. "Are you a fan of them?" George caught Clay glaring at the paper he was holding up. "I can't wait for next month. Everyone's been talking about it."

Clay huffed heatedly. "No, I'm not a fan. I've never liked the tourneys. They're dumb and pointless." Clay stood up, unhappily going through the homework on his desk.

  
  


"Didn't know you had such strong feelings. Got any tape?"

  
  


"No! I don't have any goddamn tape." That was it. Clay had become increasingly annoyed with this _George_ , and he didn't want to be around him any longer. So, grabbing his phone and bag, he stormed from the room.

  
  


Clay wandered the campus, trying to blow off some steam. Then, it started to rain. "Great. Fucking great." He cursed under his breath. Once more pulling up his jacket to now shield both his face and his head.


	2. Furthering Hostility

Clay had attempted to avoid any contact with his new roommate for three days. Successfully in fact. But in the morning on day four, he wasn't fast enough in exiting the room before George woke up. The scruffy looking Brit sat up and grunted as he stretched. "Mornin." His voice and hair were rough from sleep. He reaches for his glasses and stood up. "You got an early class or something?"

"Or something." Clay responded with a snarky attitude. To be honest, George had done nothing wrong. In fact, he was perfectly nice. But Clay didn't want him to know who he was. Even though no one actually knew what he looked like because of the mask he wore in his matches, he never wanted to chance it.

"Right. Well, if you ever wanna, hang out or something, I'm free. I think if we're gonna be living with each other, we should get to know one another." George was trying to make friends with the cut off man known as Clay. "I'm sure the stick up your ass would love a break for a night." He shrugged and went to check his phone.

"First off, don't ever say that to me again, _Gogy_." He pointed his keys angrily at him. "Second, I'll hang out with you, the moment you decide to wear pants. Which you never seem to want to wear." With that, Clay storms from the dorm.

With mathematics making him want to implement a coffee Iv, Clay walks up to a coffee stand around one in the afternoon. "A cold brew." He handed the man behind the counter five dollars. The barista took the payment and nodded before going about making it. Clay checked his phone every five seconds while he waited. He was waiting for an important response to a complaint he had put in with the school. Determined to get his solo room back, he had messaged the school board about the current resident in his living space. He was hopeful that the Brit would be packed up and removed by the end of the week.

"One cold brew." Clay looked up and took the beverage. Once he was out of line, he checks his phone one last time. It hadn't updated since the last time he checked it twenty seconds ago. He cursed under his breath and went on his way.

Fast foreword to nine, and Clay was unlocking his door. He stepped inside to find it was empty. Thank god. He sets his things on his bed and sat down with a deep sigh. College, was stressful. After a few moments, he sits up and goes about studying for his next exam. Clay got a good few seconds of studying in before the door was unlocked again and George came in. 

"Yeah, sorry, I've got to go I just got home. Yeah, talk to you later." George hung up the phone and closed the door. He threw the bag across the way and onto the bed. "Hey." It was a simple enough greeting he gave to Clay. It didn't require an answer. It didn't need any further conversation. But that's not what Clay had in mind.

"What are you doing here? You don't get here for another two hours." He didn't even turn in his seat to address the boy.

"Why do you care? It's not like you've expressed any interest in me before." George kicked his shoes off at the door and slipped his jacket off. "Go back to brooding in the corner."

"Shut up." He huffed as he went back to trying to read. 

"Nah, I think I'll continue to talk. Especially if it makes you so upset." George moved up next to Clay and leaned on him casually. "Whatcha reading?"

Clay was practically twitching when George touched him. "Get off of me. Now." Unless he was in an arena, Clad never laid hands on people. Not even to get an annoying roommate off of him. Though it was definitely tempting in the moment. "George, get off of me...please."

"Oh my god! He has manners! It's a goddamn miracle." George leaned off of him and patted his back. "Hey, since we're both here here tonight, wanna go out and get a drink? I wasn't lying before when I said I wanted to get to know you. It would be nice to know that you're not some weirdo. Would make me feel more comfortable sleeping at night."  
  
"I know for a fact you sleep just fine. _I_ on the other hand, have to listen to your snoring all night long." Clay turned to look at him. He was wearing the face mask once more. "And fine, if you want to go have a drink, I'll go have ONE drink with you. That's all." He stood up in a huff and grabbed his jacket. 


	3. Drinks?

The night had a refreshing chill to it, and the pair had dressed accordingly. George in a pair of black jeans with matching shoes and a shirt with a blue jacket. Clay wore dark jeans, white sneakers, a blue t-shirt and a grey holding. Both sported face masks and distant stances from people. 

The inside of the bar had many more people than you would think at the time, which made keeping a distance rather hard.

"So, what will your _one_ drink be?" George lead the way to the bar and sat down.

"I don't know. Surprise me." Clay had his hoodie up and was visibly uncomfortable with the surrounding environment and closely packed people. Even if this wasn't a pandemic, Clay didn't enjoy being smothered by strangers. "Just don't make it something gross." He took a seat beside his roommate.

"Got it." George flagged down a bartender and ordered some drinks. "So, what's your major?" George turned to him in his stool.

"Computer science." He answered with a sigh. "How about you?" He was going to try and be friendly tonight. George wanted to pay for the few drinks, and it was the least he could do in return. 

"Same!" George smiled enthusiastically at their similarities. "Do you have Hamilton's class? He's a dick isn't he." He was leaning on the bar and towards Clay. "His class is full of suckups."

Their drinks were served and Clay didn't move to touch it just yet. George however hastily began sipping from the dark amber in his short glass. "Yes I'm in his class. But I don't thing he's much of a dick. Granted I've never really talked to the guy before. You seem to hate him though." Although Clay had fantastic grades, he made no effort to talk to any of his teachers. Other than his friend Nick, he didn't talk to anyone at the school unless he had to. Until George that was.

"Well I think he's mean." George stated simply. He was already halfway through whatever drink it was that he ordered.

"I can tell. Just, try not to bring attention to yourself during class. That'll keep him from making your life hell." Clay offered, trying to be helpful. 

"Fair enough. Not like it matters anyhow. I gotta take his class, so I'll suck it up." He stirred his drink around for a moment. "How come you hate me?"

That wasn't anything Clay was expecting to be asked. "Hate you? Why would I hate you?" The bar seemed to grow deadly quiet as he waited for his response. He knew he had been, distant. But hating his roommate? Far from it.

"I don't know. You tell me. You're the one who's avoided me ever since I moved in." George shrugged uncomfortably. "You know, I got a message from the school board saying you wanted me out. That you made a personal complaint about me being there. I just, want to know what I did to make you mad at me. I'll fix it." The guy seemed genuinely hurt by this bit of information, and Clay felt absolutely terrible. 

"Oh. I, I didn't know you'd get a notice about it. I just asked a friend of mine who works the offices if he could see about you being moved to a different room." Clay took his first drink of the sweet pink drink in front of him. "I just, I just value privacy is all. You've done nothing to me. I've got things in my life I'm not comfortable with. And not having a roommate makes it easier."

"Okay. Sorry I, I guess I'll go ask for a different room then." George turned to face the bar now, hunched over his drink. He looked like a dejected puppy now. That wouldn't do. 

"Wait, no. No you don't have to do that. I'm sorry for being such a dick. Truth is, you're actually kinda nice. And I could use someone to help keep the area clean..." He scratched at a mark on the counter. "Besides. Who'll drink with me if you leave?" Though Clay didn't see it, George smiled sweetly. 

"Okay, I'll stay. But you gotta promise to stop with the constant one word answers and the snippy attitude. It gets old. Very old." He finished off his drink before setting the glass down and turning to Clay once more.

"Deal." Clay offered his calloused hand to his roommate.

The rest of the night went on quite nicely. The two of them chatted about just about anything you could think of. Family, sports, classes, girls. Eventually they were asked to leave the bar for closing time and they headed home. Each passed out near immediately.


	4. Yes Father

One week had gone by since the night at the bar, and things were actually going well. George and Clay had spent more time together, learning about each other's past, interests and goals. Since Clay's private life and past weren't public knowledge as Dream, he was able to be rather honest to his roommate. 

At the moment, Clay was sitting on his bed, laptop in front of him and earbuds drowning any sound out with music. An off tune version of Believer came from him as George, for the fifth time, shouted his name. He had had enough of shouting, and didn't feel like walking over to him to get his attention, George picked up a stray shoe and threw it at Clay. It hit him on the shoulder. "Hey! What's the deal?" Clay shouted as an earbud was removed. 

"Fucking finally! I've been calling your name for ages!" George pushed a frozen pizza into their little microwave. Did you want anything to eat while I'm heating myself up something?"

"No, I'm good. I'm going out to eat tonight." He checks his phone for the time. "Actually, I should have left five minutes ago. Shit." Clay threw his phone and earbuds to the side and shut his computer. He went about cleaning his homework up half assed, then stood up. 

"Going on a date or something?" George prodded nosily. "Do I know her? I probably do. What's her name?" He gasped. "Is it Alyssa?!" 

Suddenly, Clay was regretting opening his mouth. "No. It's not Alyssa. It's not a girl at all."

George gasped again. "You're gay?!"

"No! I'm not going on a date! I'm going to meet with my dad over dinner. Jeez." He sighed as he looked around for his shoes. "And I'm not gay by the way. I promise. I won't be gone long I hope. Although knowing my dad, you might not see me till tomorrow."

"I thought you weren't on speaking terms with your dad. How come you're just going to dinner with him. Wasn't he like, super pushy or something. I don't know. You're always super vague about crap." George turned to the now beeping microwave and pulled out the literally steaming pizza. He blew on a corner before taking a bite from it. No cutting it into pieces, no plate. 

Watching him eat the pizza like an animal, Clay shrugged. "He is pushy. Which is actually why I need to meet up with him. He convinced me to take part in something I now can't get out of on my own, and I need him to pull some strings to fix it. But knowing him, he won't." He finds his shoes under his bed and plops onto the ground to put them on. "Are you going to use a plate or something? 'Cause I don't want crumbs in here, man."

"No, I'm not." He leans over the sink and took another bite. "Fisss good?" He asked through a mouth full of food. 

"I guess, weirdo." Clay laughed him off and searched for his keys. "Hey, don't throw a party while I'm out. I don't want strangers in here."

"You're strange. How come you get to be here?" George laughed at his own burn and leaned against the sink for support.

"Funny. You're a real comedian, man. Keep that up and you'll be famous." He scoffed before grabbing his keys and a hoodie. Once he was ready, he opened the door. "But seriously, no parties."

"Yeah yeah. I heard you the first time. Have fun at your family dinner." As Clay went to leave, George shouted for him. "Hey! Bring me back some cake. If they don't have that, like a brownie or something sweet." He took another bite of his crumbling pizza. "Say hi to your dad for me."

Clay laughed. "Sure thing. Want me to get them to put your name on it as well? Get them to come back and sing to you too?" Obviously he was joking, but George didn't care. 

"Oh my god, that would be awesome. Not the singing part. But get them to put my name on it! And hey, if you're by the store when you come back, can you grab some pizza? We're out."

"Yeah, yeah I'll see if I can get some." He simply laughed to himself as he left the dorm. When he was out in the hallway, he pulled the hoodie up over his head and headed out of the building. Clay contemplated bringing his garaged bike. it hadn't been ridden in quite awhile. "Why not." He says to himself as he goes to get it. 

The garage was a little over a block down the road, and Clay didn't manage to get there quite yet before a shiny limo pulled up besides him. The very back window of the six windowed car rolled down. Inside, a well dressed and expensive looking man sat. "I thought I asked you to wear something nice, Clay."

"And I thought I told you I didn't need a ride in your bus. If I wanted a ride from you I would have asked for one." Clay doesn't turn to the man, his hands deep in his pockets to keep them warm from the biting temperature outside. "I've got my own vehicle you know."

"You mean your death machine? I'm aware. But I don't want you in the open in this part of town." The scene between the two would have been odd from the outside. A disheveled looking young man talking to a wealthy older gentleman through a car window. The definition of sketchy. 

"Do you forget I can handle myself? Dad, I'll meet you at the restaurant." Clay attempted to walk away, but the door to the limo opened.

"Are you really going to pass up a free ride?" 

"Yes Dad, I am. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to get on my way." Before his dad could react, Clay took off down the street at a brisk pace. The limo peeled off and surpassed him immediately. But Clay didn't care in the least. He made his way to the garage and got on his bike. Since it was a closed off and personal garage unit, he had other things in the room as well. A thick jacket to keep the wind off of him. Gloves so his fingers didn't freeze off. And bright green helmet. Those were just for his bike. Other things sat against the wall as well. Like a large wardrobe. When opened you could see that it was full of fancy clothes and a special helmet. It was white, and painted on it was a basic smiley face. To many, that was the mask of a famous fighter. To Clay, it was a cage.

Clay shuts the wardrobe without retrieving anything. He pulls on the jacket and gloves before climbing onto his bike and zoomed off. These moments were some of his favorite. He loved taking his bike out to just, drive. Unfortunately, he had a set destination that he had to be at soon. So instead of taking a leisurely ride through the city, he drives directly to a pompous looking sushi restaurant. When he arrives, he gives the keys to one of the valet and marched his way inside. Before he could fully enter the building however, a tight lipped woman stopped him. 

"Sir, this is a reservation _only_ establishment." She held a clipboard and sported the tightest bun he had ever seen. 

"I am aware miss, I'm meeting my father here. He may actually be here already. It's a party of seven for Holden." He tries again to go past the women. With no avail. 

The way she looked at him made it painfully obvious what she thought of of this young man. She sneered in his direction before checking her clipboard slowly. "I'm sorry, but there's no reservations under that name. Maybe you got the address wrong. Hooters is down the street some blocks." Thinking she had had the last word, she turns to greet someone who had come up behind him. 

"Right. Thank you for the directions to your previous job. But I have the address right, and I can see my father in there. So if you'll excuse me," Clay pushes past her and walks into the building. The woman chased after him with her shrilly voice calling for security. He ignores her and sits down across his Dad. "Can you please tell this woman I'm supposed to be here?"

The woman arrived at the table, already breathless. "Yes, he's supposed to be here. He's the one who made the reservations, Darla." His dad sighed as he addressed the woman. "This is Clay. I've told you about him before."

"This...this is your son?" She looked to Clay with a horrified expression. "I'm so sorry Sir! Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all, Mr. Holden."

Clay simply shook his head. "For you to go back to doing your job please." He opens his menu and pretended to read. For the time being, he simply wanted to avoid conversation until the rest of the group showed up. 


	5. Sushi and Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers, 
> 
> I'm sorry for the wait on the new chapter. I had a three day weekend, and took some time to be with family. I hope this chapter will suffice for the absence. ^-^

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes he was left with his dad completely by himself. The others who were supposed to have been there _**thirty minutes**_ ago, arrived in one group with polite apologies about their tardiness. 

"Alright, now that we're all here-" Clay started before his father raised a hand to stop his talking. Mr. Holden slowly stood to address the table, making Clay slouch back in his chair, annoyed. 

"Thank you all for joining us today. I'd love to get straight to business, but you all look rather hungry. So how about we get some food in our bellies first." Mr. Holden sat down with a smile and picked up his menu. Great, now Clay had to suffer through an entire meeting with these stuck up managers before he could leave.

Another painfully quiet ten minutes was spent on just choosing a drink and type of raw fish to eat before Clay's dad allowed the waiter to take all of their orders. Tuna Sashimi. Salmon wraps. Crab cakes. Most of the outlandishly expensive menu was bought along with some waters. With lemon of course. Once the orders were placed, Clay goes to stand again.

"I understand you guys are probably hungry, but I have places to be. I only asked you guys here because I have to inform you when I make decisions." His father tries to discretely pull him down by his shirt, but to no avail. "I don't want to be in the tournament this year." Immediately, the low buzz of the restaurant became an angered roar as the five other occupants of Clay's table shouted out their displeasure.

"You can't back out now! Think of the fans! Think of the press!"

"We've put to much money for you to back out now."

"You've made a commitment to this tournament. backing out now would be a disaster."

"Even if we did agree to this, you'd ruin your image! That can't happen."

"Clay, you're just being reckless at this point. The news will have a field day with this."

The men around him continued to blabber on about the damage backing out would do to the image of Dream. But none of them stopped to ask why he had come to the decision. Clay simply sits back down while they berated his ears with their displeasure of the situation before Mr. Holden stood and they all became deadly quiet. 

"Now now, lets not overreact. We can talk this through can we not? We're all adults here, so let us act like ones." Drinks were distributed among the guests as Mr. Holden sits back down in his chair. He turns to his son, an expression of concealed anger plastering his face. "Clay, please explain just why you want to back out of the event less than a month from the date."

"It's simple. I don't want to do it. You know I haven't enjoyed the tournaments in years. Yet you make me attend every year. I have school now, I have a life outside of the stupid tournaments. And I'd like to be able to focus on my classes, to be able to make friends without having to sneak away and train for a dumb fight with someone in front of the world." Clay had no intentions of changing his mind. But that didn't mean he thought he'd get his way. For the past three years, he had brought up the fact he didn't want to compete. And every year he was shot down and guilt into participating. 'Think of the fans.' 'You started this career for yourself. You have to finish it.' 'You can't just walk away as a public figure. Not without having backlash from the people.'

Micheal Foreman, James Peterson, Neal Kelly, Thomas Keenan, and Richard Jones. These were the five men, apart from Mr. Holden who held Clay's future in their hands. They were the men he had to convince to let him take at least a few years off of fighting. The chances of that happening however were low. "I know you've wanted to take a break for some time now. But of all years? You know what's at stake this year. You have to go against him. You know that." Mr. Holden placed a hand gently on his sons, who tore his own away. 

"This fight wouldn't even have been a thing if I had taken a break after *last* year. As far as I'm concerned, this year is no different. Techno is just another man." Clay stood, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. "If I go through with this fight, if I fight Technoblade, I want five years pause on this damn thing. I want to get through college and figure some stuff out. Then I'll think about coming back. If I don't get that, I don't fight him, and you find me someone else to battle." He takes up his jacket from his chair. "Figure out your answer and get a hold of me. I'm leaving." Fishing his wallet from his pocket, he throws a few hundreds on the table and storms out of the restaurant. He leaves the six men to discuss their next move. 

Once he had gotten his bike back from valet, he gets on and takes off. These meetings always got him worked up in a bad way. And the things he partook in after leaving them left him in battered state. Thankfully he was well versed in handling himself in those situations...


	6. Hurley's Club

Hurley's Fight Club. Somewhere known for the frequent visits of ambulances. This was where Clay had gone after the stressful dinner with his father and company. Walking down the sketchy alleyway, his hood pulled up and hands in his pockets, he reaches a rusty metal door and knocked loudly on it. While he waited for someone to answer it, he checks back down the alley way. His bike was parked underneath a security camera owned by the building. The door creaked loudly open and a tall, incredibly hairy...woman? "What do you w-Clay! Haven't seen you in a hot minute." The woman opened the door wider so he could enter.

"I know. I've been busy with school work, Lily. I've not had anytime to get over here." He steps through the door and into the small room. It was filled with worn down couches and small corner tables. It was a well kept, but very often used room. And the smell of sweat and smoke made that worn look even more potent. "Who all's here?" He sheds his jacket and hangs it by the door on the hooks to the left and walked through the only other door in the room.

The woman follows him through the room which opened up into a giant space filled with people. "Derek is here, like always. But Danny and Phil aren't. Dan might not be coming back for a while actually. Jessie kicked him really hared in the no-no-space and he had to go to the ER." She shrugged with an amused smile on her face. 

"Serves him right. I'm guessing she found out about him and Kelly?" He stopped by a bench to the right of the door and grabbed one of the several rolls of hand wraps. 

"Yeah. Kelly isn't coming back either. He was also kicked in an uncomfy area." She leans against the wall beside him. Clay wrapped his hands in the wraps and turned to the large area. There was a ring of people. Some he recognized, some he didn't. He walked towards them to see who was in the middle.

Two women were in the ring of people. One had a bloody face and was limping rather badly while she circled the seemingly unharmed counterpart. Bloody girl lunged for the other and failed in her attempt to hit her face. Instead, the receiver of the punch ducked out of the way and kicked the woman away. That was the end for the poor woman, for she didn't get back up and clutched at her stomach. 

"And this one goes to Jessie!" A man, his name was Roger, walked into the ring of people and held up Jessie's hand. She was wearing a sports bra and a pair of sweatpants. Once her hand was let down, she collected some money while others passed around handfuls of cash. She walked up to Clay.

"Where've you been, green?" She wiped her brow free of sweat. "Haven't seen you in ages. Decide letting a girl kick the shit outta you was too embarrassing." She was smiling friendly at him. 

"You know it takes more than that to kick down my pride." He offered her a hug, which she accepted. "How've you been, Jess? Heard you kicked the dick to the curb." He stood back to listen. 

"Oh, yeah. I kicked him to the curb like a month ago. Good riddance if you ask me." She proceeds to unwrap her hands. "You here to fight?"

He nodded, shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah. Got any recommendations of who to punch?" His eyes scanned the crowd for the largest looking for the biggest and meanest looking one there. 

"Yeah, there's a guy that comes here kinda frequently. He's small, but hes fast, and hits hard." 

"Who is it? I wanna meet him." While his eyes scanned the room Jessie took his hand and lead him to the far corner. There, several people were sitting together and laughing. She leads him directly up to a man in a blue hoodie. He looked up and Clay's jaw nearly hit the floor. "George...?"

Jessie looked between the two of them. "You two know each other? Oh my goodness, you guys need to fight! That would be awesome. Don't hold back though." She takes George's hand now and lead them to the still formed ring of people.

"Wait, when did you start going here?" George was goggling at Dream with disbelief. 

"Long before you did. I haven't been going since the start of school. When did you start coming here?" They were pushed into the ring and people started to cheer their names. 

Jessie called from the crowd, "Just hit each other! Talk later, losers!" With that, George and Clay raised their fists. 

"I'll go easy on you, Goggy." Clay smirked.


	7. Who Hit Harder?

Between the fanciful foot work, and the calculated punches, no one could quite tell which one of the two men swung first. George might have, with his aggressive fighting style of trying to corner the taller man. Dream was also known for throwing the first punch. Although his fighting style was much more defensive, he still had a very powerful punch. With all of that in mind, picture this...

Dream was standing in the middle of the ring, George standing closer to the people, had his fists raised determinedly. "Give up, Clay. You're not gonna win this. I've already beaten the shit out of you." That was true. Dream was bleeding from his nose, and his eye was bruised at this point. But he was still smiling like an idiot.

"I wouldn't be to sure of yourself, George. I've got you exactly where I want you." Unlike Clay, George had only been hit once in the face. He had a fat lip forming, but that didn't seem to faze him in the least. "Why don't you come over here, and I'll make it easy on you." Clay sounded like an ass. Truly. And George didn't much like that. 

With a scoff, George shook his head. "Why don't you come over _here_ and I'll smack that smirk from your face." They were both having fun, although it didn't quite seem that way from the outside. George lifted his firsts once more for Clay, who was slowly advancing.

Clay, without raising his hands, took several small steps closer. With only a few feet between them now, Clay takes a giant leap towards the other, his fist raised to strike hard. George had only a second to react and step out of the way before Clay's fist would have connected with his face. George stepped to the side at the last possible moment and spun around behind Clay. Though that move would have worked with other people, Clay was a professional, and he was letting that show at the moment. He spun with George and faced him head on. George was in the middle of a swing when Clay turned to meet him. He swiped George's hand from the way and swung his other fist in his direction. It connected with a sickening smack of skin on skin, and George fell backwards in surprise. 

George hit the ground hard, and his hand went to his nose which had let loose a terrible sound. Now with blood gushing from it, he sits up on his elbows. "What the fuck, Clay." He sat up, holding his nose. "That fucking hurt." 

Clay laughed, offering him a hand to stand up. "I'm sure that did. Need some help with it?" George took his hand and let him help him up. When they were both standing, he sighed. "I guess you win, man. Why did you draw this out so long if you could end it just like that?"

"I didn't want it to end so quickly. Besides, wouldn't want you to have your pride ruined if you were knocked down in the first thirty seconds. I wanted you to get some punches in." He patted him on the back. "Is your pride still intact?"

"Yeah yeah. I'm fine. Hey Jessie, do you have any ice?" He moved towards her, trying to stop his nose from covering his shirt in blood. 

"Yeah. Come back here and I'll get you some." She guides him towards the back of the room where a chair and some wraps were. Clay was left by himself for no more than a moment before equal amounts of vaguely familiar and completely new faces surrounded him. None did he wish to speak to however as he tried to slip from their "good game's and 'how are you's. 

Once he was free from the unwanted attention, Clay found himself in a private bathroom. He sighed deeply as he looked into the mirror, leaning on the dingy sink for support. Clay was in there, hiding from the abrasive people for some time before a knock came at the door. "Do you plan on coming out of there, Clay?" George's voice came from the opposite side of the door.

"If I say no, are you gonna come in here and get me?" As soon as Clay uttered those words, an amused smile on his lips, George barged into the unlocked room. 

"Yes. Yes I am. Come on, lets get home. I'm starving and I don't want to walk home myself." George turned and left the bathroom, completely expecting Clay to follow without complaint. Which he did. Clay followed George towards the exit. He hugged Jessie goodbye before meeting his friend outside. George was sitting against the wall, arms crossed. "You took foreverrrr." He groaned before starting down the alley.

Laughing, Clay followed. "It took me like, ten seconds to say goodbye. Don't be a baby." He stopped by his bike at the end of the alleyway. George was well passed it at this point. "Come back and hop on." He was offering his helmet to him as he got on.

"This thing is yours? Where are you keeping _that_? Under your bed?" He gawked at the bike as he came back. "You've got a lot of explaining to do after tonight, mister."

"Yeah yeah. Just get on shorty, it looks like it's about to rain." It was indeed about to rain. The night sky showed no light from the cloud blocked moon. The only light was from the single lamp above his motorcycle, allowing them to adjust their seating. "You ready?"

George situated himself behind Clay, wrapping his arms around his middle. The helmet was strapped to his head and he nods. "Yep. Let's go." With that, the two sped off to their dorm.


	8. Drinks But With A Twist

It had been a week. A full week since George and Clay’s brief physical encounter at Hurley’s. George’s nose didn’t look too much better than it had the night Clay busted it. Honestly, neither man had the prettiest looking faces after coming from that fight. Neither were upset with the outcome either. Although George had regularly tried to pry information from Clay about how he had learned to fight like that. He never gave in, which frustrated the shorter roommate. 

“Hey, do you want to go out for drinks again tonight? I don’t like being cooped up inside so much and if I have to keep writing this paper tonight, I’m gonna have an aneurysm.” George was sitting on his bed, computer on his lap. He looked over to the green eyed man hopefully. 

Clay wasn’t entirely in the mood for drinking, but a break from the computer definitely sounded like a good time. “Okay. When do you want to head out?” He glanced up from the computer to ask his question. 

“As soon as humanly possible.” George closed his laptop hastily and tossed it to the side on his twin sized bed. He started dressing for a night out, pulling off his sweatpants and dirty T with no hesitation. Clay simply chuckled in response to the other as he started picking up his homework work space. Although he was moderately dressed for this casual occasion, he did change out the tattered hoodie for a nicer jacket for the evening. 

“I’ll only have a drink or two. I’d like to wake up tomorrow for the test,” Clay told him as he grabbed his keys and wallet by his bedside table. 

With a snort of disbelief, George pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a clean white T. “Yeah right. I bet you’d love nothing more than to miss that test. You’ve been complaining about it for over a week now. You just don’t want Mrs. Davidson to get after you for being tarty again.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault it decided to rain the fucking ocean that day. I needed to borrow an umbrella from down the hall.” Clay pushed him affectionately before heading for the door. “You ready, nimrod?”

“Yeah yeah.” George stuffed his phone and wallet in his pants before pulling a mask over his face. Clay did the same before the two headed out.

After the two of them made it to the practically vacant bar, Clay heads straight to the bathroom. Turns out, downing a bottle of water on the rather short distance from their dorm to the bar was an extremely flawed idea. Clay was in and out of the rather disgusting bathroom as quickly as he could. Soon he joined George at the bar and sighed.

“I ordered you a drink already.” George pushed a glass towards the taller of the two. “Don’t ask what it is though, ‘cause I have no clue what it is. Danny here was given the privilege of choosing the drinks tonight.” He gestured to the bartender in front of them.

Clay laughed off George’s decision making and took a sip. “Holy fuck.” He coughed at whatever he had just ingested. “That’s foul, Danny!” He lightly scolded the bartender who shrugged and moved onto another customer. “Anyways, George, you should go see what’s growing in the third stall in that shit hole in the back.” He gestured to the bathroom area.

“You know, I’m gonna skip that, thanks. I think I’d rather take a piss outside.” He turned to the pink drink Danny boy had made him. The one he had already drank a third of. 

For the next two hours, the two of them talked. Either with each other, with third-wheel-Danny, or some group of girls who had gotten wasted and sat beside them for a short while. When Clay had had enough of the social environment, he convinced George to leave his seventh pink drink and say goodnight to Danny-drink-giver. The two exited the building just in time for a truck of about five or six people to pull up. In it, one of the girls from before were pointing in Clay and George’s direction. That couldn’t have been good. 

“Hey! Heard you were hittin on my girl!” A rather large man got out of the front seat of the truck. The man had flaming red hair, a fraying hat to cover it, and to many piercings to count sticking from his face. He was walking towards George, who was more than a little confused.

“Dude, calm down. I don’t know what she told you happened but-” The beefy, caked up man swung at the scrawny man. George ducked under the fist just barely and held up his hands. “Hey hey! Calm down dude! I didn’t do anything.”

Clay stood to the side, assessing the situation. He knew George would have no problem taking on the one guy without much trouble. The problem was, four other men were clambering out of the car, and they were just as big and beefy as the first. Each one looked ready for a serious fight. And each one looked completely sober unlike George. Clay had limited himself to finishing the first glass blue-eyes-Danny had given him.

The big men moved to surround the two, each person’s fists were raised to attack. Three of the men jumped at Clay and George in sync. Fists flew through the air, and many hit home. But none of them landed on the two roommates. Both Clay and George stepped from the way of the others’ hands, showing off just how skilled in combat they were. George jumped to the left and Clay foreword as they each took on their own goon. 

Out of the five men who had removed themselves from the large truck, only two stuck back from the group. A tall man with dark hair and an evil looking grin and a shorter looking guy who didn’t look older than nineteen. The two stood on the outskirts of the rather one sided fight, merely watching. The taller of the two was talking to the other, the shorter merely nodding along to what he was saying. 

Meanwhile, Clay had managed to completely knock out one of the beefy men, leaving him unconscious in the mud a few yards away. The other he was now taking on was currently on the ground with his arm twisted back and behind him while Clay stepped on his shoulders. 

George was not having so much luck tonight. Being practically wasted, the glasses wearing man was experiencing considerable difficulty in keeping the larger man, who happened to be the aggressive redhead, at bay. Both of them had a bloody face and bruising knuckles from the blows they had been dealing each other. George managed to grab the man by the shirt and pull him into a headbutt. Whether that was a smart idea or not, neither person could tell because they both stumbled backwards and into the mud, disorientated. 

Clay sighed deeply, kicking his prisoner in the face to subdue him. “George, what the hell was that?” The green eyed man turned to his friend and the redhead. He marched up to the man, grabbed him by the hair and yanked him backwards. With a swift punch to his jaw, the man was out cold and fell limp to the ground. Once he was taken care of, Clay helped George to his feet.

“Fuck…...That hurt,” George groaned deeply as he leaned against Clay. It was at this point the other two, led by the tallest, walked over.

“Fancy meeting you and your date here.” A commanding and proud voice too familiar to Clay came from the tallest man. “Why did you have to go and pick a fight with numbnuts one through three? They were gonna buy us drinks.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Schlatt?” Clay’s reaction to the newcomer was far from pleasant as he stepped in front of George. Unlike Clay, many competitive combatants didn’t hide their identity. Schlatt happened to be a rather well known person among the pvp community and beyond, so the fact Clay seemed to personally know the man was rather suspicious.

“Schlatt? As-as in  _ the _ Schlatt?!” George stepped out of Clay’s blockade and smiled drunkenly. “You’re awesome!” The brown eyes of the drunken man never wavered from the taller Schlatt. 

“I am, aren't I?” The ego on Schlatt was obviously larger than he could contain in the muttonchop having head of his. He smiled smugly before patting Clay on the back and wrapping his arm around him. “Come back inside, we gotta catch up. Drinks are on him by the way.” He pointed to the other unnamed man in the little group. 

“Wait, me?! I only came for the promise of free drinks. Not to pay for everyone’s!” The scrawny man crossed his arms in a pout.

Clay ducked away from Schlatt’s embrace and stepped back. “Look, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I gotta take my friend home. He’s a little tipsy and he’s had his nose beaten in a little. Make sure Schlatt doesn’t have to much to drink, Alex. Keep him out of trouble.” Clay waved slightly to them, taking George’s hand. He started to hurry away before Schlatt opened his big mouth.

Calling back to the two retreating roommates, Schlatt frowned. “Hey! Are you still competing in the tournament? I’ve heard rumors that you were gonna dip! Wouldn’t want The Blade being stood up would we?” Alex dragged the taller man towards the bar before he could say anymore. But the damage was done.

  
George frowned deeply at the comments from Schlatt as Clay dragged him home. Although he didn’t speak his confusion and interest, the deeply furrowed brow gave away what he was thinking.  _ Clay was, or is, going to fight Technoblade? Why didn’t he say anything? _


	9. Truthfully?

As the sun rose the day after their run in at the bar, George rushed to quiet the alarm his phone was sounding. The loud chiming from the device did nothing but add to the intense headache the brown eyed boy suffered. George sat on his bed, rubbing his tired eyes before standing and moving to the coffee pot.

As it happens, clay was already stood at the dirty bean juice maker. The tall beheaded man poured two cups of the yummy liquid before turning and giving one to the newly awoken George. “Hey man. How’s the headache?” Clay offered a caring smile to him.

“Terrible, that’s how. You go drink then get your face smashed in by some idiot. See how you feel the next day.” George didn’t bother adding sugar or milk to flavor his glack juice before beginning to down it.

With a dismissive shrug, Clay looked to his roommate. “I think i’ll pass.” He leaned back against the counter before speaking again. “What do you remember about last night?” The answer that he had hoped for ran along the lines of, ‘not much’ or ‘nothing’. What he got instead was far from it.

“Truthfully? Everything.” George sighed deeply before looking towards his roommate. “How do you personally know Schlatt? And why does he think you’re gonna fight Technoblade? Like _the_ Technoblade! Clay, I know you can fight, I do. But I didn’t hear about some new guy fighting The Blade.” George plopped down on his bed once more.

The green eyed man rubbed his face, contemplating what to say next. This wasn’t how he’d imagined telling his friend what he did as a profession. Especially not with the obvious doubt the other had for him. “Look, it, it’s complicated.”

“Lucky for you, I have nothing but time.”

_Shit_ , Clay thought. “Okay, well. Look, Schlatt wasn’t lying. I am fighting Techno. But, not as some new guy.” How was he supposed to say this without just, blurting it out? “Do you know Dream? Well, I, I’m him.” The answer is, you don’t. 

“Yeah right.” The obvious disbelief in George’s voice hurt a little as Clay looked at him. The brown eyed man stood with his empty coffee cup. “Look, come up with a better lie before I come back. I gotta wee.” He set the cup beside his bed before retreating to the bathroom. 

Clay was more than upset as he left George to relieve himself. His friend didn’t believe a word that had just come from his mouth, and now he was hell bent on proving that he was telling the truth. By the time George had come back, he had made his decision. 

Now dressed, Clay handed George an outfit to wear as well. “Get dressed. I want to show you something.” Clay pulled his shoes on and gathered his keys while George did as he was told. Once both were dressed and ready to leave, Clay led the sobering man out of the dorm and outside. 

After ten minutes of walking, and telling George they were indeed ‘almost there’, Clay stopped in front of the garage building. “You made me go outside and move to visit a garage?” George asked cynically. Clay smacked his friend lightly. 

“No. Well, yes. But I want to show you what’s _in_ the garage dumbass.” He unlocked and lifted the door to reveal the motorcycle he rode on the night he met with his father. “Don’t touch anything though. Got it?” He said that just in time. George had an outstretched hand to grab a trophy that sat just inside the door on a long table. It was one among several, most were combat related while others were in weaponry and track. 

“Maybe start with that next time then. What is this place anyways?” George looked around the smallish garage to see original posters from every battle Dream was in. He could see the mysterious wardrobe in the back corner, the familiar motorcycle and a long table he was already acquainted with.

“I already gave you an answer. You just don’t believe me. All of this,” Clay gestured to the entirety of the small structure. “Is stuff I’ve gotten from my tournaments, things I’ve won before and after fights I _am_ Dream, George. Whether you like it or not.” Just to finally drive home what he was telling his friend, he moved to the wardrobe. He pulls out the infamous white helmet and green jacket and extends them to his friend. “Do you believe me now?”

George watched in shock as Clay showed him his uniform. “So you, you really are him... You’re Dream. I’ve been watching your fights for literal years. Does anyone else here know who you are? Or just me?” George gently felt the faded white helmet Clay had displayed out to him. He had imagined the day he would have met the famous Dream. But the thought of having become friends with the man without knowing it was him, escaped the realm of possibility in his mind.”I can’t believe you’re actually him. I’ve wanted to meet you since I was like, twelve.”

Clay couldn’t help but laugh softly at his friend’s admiration. “I kind of imagined since you have a picture hung over your bed of me. Totally not weird at all by the way.” He lightly nudged his now shyly blushing friend.

“I’m taking that down when we get back.” He stated matter of factly. George thought back to how many times he had tried to convince Clay to talk with him about how awesome and talented he thought Dream and Techno were. Now he realized how cringy and awkward that was.

“You can leave it up. It really doesn’t bother me. Not anymore at least.” He offered his friend a gentle smile as he replaced his things back in the wardrobe. “So, this doesn’t change things right? You’re not gonna just, treat me different because I’m Dream are you?” That was really the reason he hadn’t told George at this point. He didn’t want any _special treatment_. Nor did he want his secret to be shouted to the world. But he didn’t think George would do that to him.

“No. No this doesn’t change anything. I’ve still seen you pick your toes with a pencil tip and wipe it on your covers. There’s nothing you could say that would make me treat you any different than I already do, dude.” The moment shared by the two was nothing short of sweet. They shared a caring smile before sighing. “This explains a lot you know. About why you’re so secretive about everything. It also explains you and your dad’s beef. Did he try to make you quit or something?”

Clay scratched the back of his head for a moment as he leaned against the wardrobe doors. “Actually, he signed me up for the Techno fight. I was the one who didn’t want to do it. A few years back I wanted to take a break from the tournaments and focus on school, but my dad convinced me to continue.” He looked to his friend, expecting to see an upset fan. Instead, he saw a sympathetic nod.

“That’s fair. I see how hard you try on your work. It makes sense since your event is like, in a week or something.” 

“It’s in eight days. Eight days.” He didn’t seem that happy about it, and George could tell. 

“Are you nervous at all?” George moved to lean against the wardrobe with him. 

“Not really, no. It doesn’t matter who wins the fight. It’s evenly matched and we’re both better at different things. But I have two papers due the day after and I’m having trouble with them. I just think my time could be more wisely spent then training to fight Techno.” Clay sighed deeply. “But that’s something to worry about in eight days. For now I’m gonna go get some pizza. Wanna come?” He smiled as he stood up and moved towards the garage exit.

“Are you serious? Yes. Yes I want pizza.” George happily followed the taller man out of the small unit. Once it was closed, the two of them headed to the local pizza hut for some below average pizza.


	10. A God's Entrance

It was the day before the event. The weather was wet and gross out, leaving most at home and avoiding the outdoors. Everyone of course, except for Clay. He had desperately tried to keep himself busy from worrying about the even the next day, but to no avail. Nothing took his mind off the fight that would ensue in the arena. So, as the rain poured heavily on him, Clay trained. With who though? Take a guess…

“No no no, you have to keep lower, or it makes it easier for me to knock you over.” This exact sentence had been spoken nearly ten times now as Clay helped George to his feet. They both held prop shields and hard plastic swords as they sparred. George seemed to be getting the short end of the stick in this situation. 

The anger welling in the shorter man became painfully evident as he threw his things on the ground. “Clay! For the love of-I need to take a break or something. Because if I have to hear you say that one more time, I might throttle you.” George walked to the canopy several yards away. There was a station of towels and drinks under the protection of a roof. Their phones happened to be there as well so they weren’t ruined in the rain. “You need a break too. Or a drink. One of the two.” George sat in one of the two foldable chairs set up. 

Clay didn’t so much as turn his way. “I can’t. I fight tomorrow, and if I’m not in the best shape, Techno’s gonna whoop my ass. I can’t have that.” He swung his sword in a series of elaborate jabs and feigns as he twirled around in the mud. His blonde hair stuck to his face and barred his vision slightly as he jumped and spun to the right. Unfortunately, because it was raining, the mud made for a terrible place to land. Let alone on one foot. Clay stumbled and fall backwards into the sloshy earth. 

“Break time now?” George called out to him. The brunette sipped on a water as he checked his phone. “I could use a drink. How about you?”

“I don’t need a drink, George!” Clay sat up, trying to wipe the mud from himself. “I need to train. I, I need to...I need to get ready.” George looked to his friend, worried at the breakdown he seemed to be having. The tall blonde had his knees pulled to his chest and his head nestled between them. 

George set his things down and moved to kneel next to him. “Hey...what’s got you so worked up over this fight? I know you can do it, man.” Clay shook his head.

“There’s a lot more than a trophy riding on this. If I don’t win, there’s no way I’ll be able to take off the time I want to travel and finish school. As it is, my grades are dropping, and if I don’t get them up, I won’t be able to finish.” Clay looked up to his friend. “I just, I don’t know what to do.”

George helped Clay to stand and guided him to the dry area. “How about we not worry about it for the time being? I doubt stress will make the outcome better. We can go out or something. Do something to just completely take your mind off of tomorrow.”

“I guess...what do you want to do?” Clay attempted to scrape the mud from his jeans with no luck. 

“How do you feel about going to the store, getting some food and just, having a night in?” George grabbed his things. “Come on. We can get some pizzas. Some crappy beer. It’ll be fun!” 

“That does  _ kind of _ sound fun...okay. Okay that sounds fine.” With a smile, Clay gave into George and let him drag him to the nearest Walmart.

*

Now back in a warm and dry dorm room, both Clay and George were mud free and chowing down on some microwaved pizza. Both were also shitfaced drunk. 

“Your turn your turn!” Clay threw a piece of stiff cheese at the other, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Truth or dare?”

Without thinking twice, “truth.” George finished off the last drops of liquid from his amber bottle before tossing it aside. “Don’t be lame though.”

“Okay okay. Have you ever drunk called someone? Like an ex girlfriend or something?” Clay laid back, looking to his right to watch the other. 

“Oh yeah. That was baaaaad.” He giggled softly and pulled out his phone. After struggling for a solid thirty seconds to unlock his phone, George pulled up his gallery. “This girl right here. I got super drunk like, two days after she dumped me. Told her I loved her and she hung up on me. That was so embarrassing.” George pocketed his phone once more. “Now you. Truth or dare?”

After pondering for a moment, he answered. “Definitely dare.” He folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. 

“Okay. I dare you to call someone right now. Wait! No I want to pick who it is!” George made a grab for the offending phone but was smacked away last second. 

“Truth.”

“Wait! You can’t back out now! You picked dare.” He snatched the phone from his hand anyways. “What’s your passcode?”

Clay took his phone back, unlocked it, and surrendered the electronic to the other man. This couldn’t have worked out well.

George sifted through the multitude of contacts for several moments. “Oh my god I found someone.” His fingers started typing away. And before Clay could snatch his phone back once again, the damage was done. 

Clay...   
_ Hey! Cant w8 for our date tmrw. Hope u wont reck me 2 hard ; ) _

On a normal day, Clay would have torn George a new one. But at the current standpoint, he thought this particular text was absolutely hilarious. “Oh my god George! He’s gonna think I’m hitting on him you idiot!” He couldn’t help the whole hearted laughter that tore through him as he clutched his phone to his chest.

“Yeah I know! Maybe then you’ll finally get laid, dude. Just helping a buddy out.” George was no better off than the green eyed boy. He himself was rolling on the ground, laughing hysterically. 

“You know damn well I don’t swing that way,  _ fanboy _ .” He scoffed in amusement. 

_ PING _

Clay’s phone rang with the sound of an incoming message. “He responded, he responded!” The two gathered around the phone, breaths held.

Techno...   
_ What the hell are you talking about? We don’t have a date. Stop being weird. _

The sound that came from George was nothing less than a literal squeal. “Techno responded to yooouuu! Text him again!”

“Okay, okay. What should I say?” With thumbs ready for George’s input, he looked to the other.

Half wanting to meet the legendary Technoblade and half just trying to see his response, he suggested something that Clay had no problem with in his inebriated state. “Um, tell him...tell him to come over. That you can’t wait for tomorrow.” 

Clay...   
_ You know wat i mean. ; ) Wat about you come over, sirrrr. Cant wait till tomor to see you. _

He showed George the phone and the two were practically rolling around once again in laugher. The next message from Techno came much quicker than the first.

Techno...   
_ You’re drunk aren’t you? Fine. I’ll be over soon. _

Upon seeing the text, George’s mouth nearly hit the floor. “He’s coming over! Oh my god oh my god oh my god! God himself is coming over!” This warranted a rather meaty smack from Clay.

“What am I then?” There was a distinct pout coming from the taller one.

“Uh, god 2.0?” That didn’t help. Clay glared at him for a moment before his abandoned pizza caught his eye. After this exciting moment with his friend, Clay and him went back to casual drunken conversations. For nearly an hour, they laughed and carried on merrily. That is, until a knock came at their door...


End file.
